


each happy ending's a brand new beginning

by jemmasimmmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Enchanted AU, F/M, Friends to Lovers, single parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9522029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: "Unable to stop himself, Fitz snorts. ‘A True Love’s Kiss? Are you kidding?’Jemma shakes her head. ‘It’s the most powerful thing in the world,’ she says, with such sincerity to her words that Fitz is almost tempted to believe her."An Enchanted AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this idea has been growing in my mind for a year and i finally wrote it down over the christmas holidays! enchanted is one of my favourite films and i loved writing this au for them. i hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> the title comes from the song 'ever after' by carrie underwood.
> 
> i'm on tumblr @jeemmasimmons, so come and chat to me there!

 

 

Leopold Fitz had been having a pretty good day before his six year old daughter jumped out of the taxi cab.

He had made progress on a particularly difficult divorce case at work, secured an important meeting between clients for the next morning, gotten a free sandwich from the café across the street for lunch and had finally decided, after five years of friendship, to ask Daisy to go out to dinner with him. _Romantically_.

He is just explaining about this to Maura as she sits beside him in the cab ride home, with his heart beating uncomfortably fast against his chest, when he glances to one side and sees that she is no longer next to him. In fact, she is no longer inside the cab at all. Her door is hanging open and she is hurrying across the (thankfully empty) road towards the pavement.

With a yelp, Fitz fumbles with his own door, before sprinting around the cab and following her.

‘ _Maura_!’

Catching up with her just as she reaches the pavement, he grabs her underneath her armpits and lifts her up into his arms.

‘What were you _thinking_ , darting across the road like that?’ he demands, even as she starts to struggle to be put down. ‘Don’t you ever do that again! There could have been a car coming, you could have gotten hurt!’

Fitz shudders, both at the thought of that and at the sight of a large brown rat scuttling away into a sack of rubbish on the kerb. Fifteen years living in New York City, and he still couldn’t get used to the amount of vermin on the streets.

‘But, Daddy!’ Maura twists in his arms and points over her shoulder. ‘Look!’

Following his daughter’s gaze, Fitz looks. His eyes widen as he notices the large castle billboard high above them, decked out in pink and glitter. Balanced precariously on the narrow ledge of the billboard, knocking on the cardboard door of the castle is a slight, dark-haired woman. Or at least, Fitz imagines she must be slight. The gigantic white dress she is wearing makes it pretty hard to tell.

‘A princess,’ Maura breathes, and Fitz groans internally.

Maura was at the age where the only stories she wanted to hear were fantasy stories of pirates and dragons and princesses and Fitz was doing everything he could to wean her off of them. It wasn’t that he had anything against fairy stories, of course he didn’t, but they weren’t real life. And he was prepared to do whatever it took to make sure his daughter’s heart never got broken because she believed they were.

‘Not a princess,’ he tells her gently, placing her back down on the ground. ‘But it looks like she might need some help. Stay here, okay?’

He waits until Maura has nodded solemnly before turning back to approach the billboard. The woman is still tapping at the door and calling out, so he clears his throat.

‘Um, hello? Are you alright?’

‘Oh!’ The woman spins around to him, and Fitz notices that she is wearing a diamond tiara on top of her curls. ‘I’m trying to attract the attention of the owners of this palace. But they don’t appear to be at home.’

‘Ah.’ Ruefully, Fitz scratches at the back of his neck. ‘No, I don’t suppose they would be. That’s not a real palace.’

‘Isn’t it?’ The woman appears genuinely shocked and she turns back to tap at the cardboard. ‘Why, it looks perfectly real!’

 _Great_ , Fitz thinks dismally, _she’s absolutely bonkers_.

‘I know, it had me fooled too,’ he says, glancing back over his shoulder to Maura. She is watching them both, wide eyed and expectant. Swallowing hard, Fitz turns back to the woman. ‘But, uh, if you come down here, maybe I can help you,’ he suggests, anxious to get her off the billboard. ‘We can find the people you’re looking for, or the place you need to go? Does that sound alright?’

‘Oh, would you really help me?’ She clasps her hands together in front of her chest, a strangely theatrical gesture. He wonders whether she’s an actress, lost too deep in her method acting. In a city like this, the explanation doesn’t seem too farfetched. ‘No one has been kind to me since I first arrived here.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Fitz holds his arms out in a shrug. ‘Welcome to New York, I guess.’

The woman’s eyes are so expressive that he can see them light up, even from his position on the ground. ‘Oh, _thank you_ , I…’

All of a sudden, she wobbles, the heel of her shoe caught on the edge of the billboard. Fitz watches in horror as she tips backwards with a cry, her arms wheeling frantically as she tries to regain her balance.

‘Catch her, Daddy!’ Maura shrieks, but Fitz is already moving forward, his arms outstretched to break the woman’s fall.

The hoop of her skirt hits his knees first, making him stumble, and then the full force of her weight hits him. They both come crashing to the ground, their fall softened by the woman’s voluminous skirts and the bags of rubbish behind them.

Fitz moans slightly, rubbing at a spot on his back that had hit the concrete particularly hard.

‘Oh no!’ He hears the woman’s skirts rustle, and opens his eyes to see her leaning over him. ‘Are you hurt?’

He manages to shake his head, the pain in his neck already fading. ‘N-no…’

The woman’s large amber eyes are full of concern and her forehead is puckered slightly as she scans his face, looking for any sign of injury. She is biting her lip as she does so, so that they are the same flushed colour as her cheeks, which are dusted with freckles. Framed against the sparkling billboard, she almost seems to shine herself.

She holds out her hand to him, and Fitz allows her to pull him upright. Dusting down his jacket, he tries again.

‘No, I’m not hurt,’ he assures her. Next to him, Maura has appeared. She slips her small hand into his and stares up at the woman. ‘I’m fine. Are you alright?’

‘Yes, perfectly.’ She beams at him and Fitz feels his cheeks grow warm at the intensity of her gaze. ‘Thanks to you, of course. Moving forward to catch me, that was truly…’

 

 

 

‘…brave! And kind, and smart, and _so_ handsome!’

Holding open the door to the flat, Fitz grits his teeth. Their entire journey home had been filled with stories of the woman’s fiancé, her ‘prince’, as she insists on calling him, and if he is honest, Fitz is starting to get a little irritated of hearing about Prince Triplett.

Maura, on the other hand, is enchanted. She wanders into the living room, hanging onto the woman’s hand as eagerly as she is hanging on her every word.

 ‘How did you meet him?’ she breathes.

‘Oh!’ The woman, whose name she had told them was Jemma, turns to her with a radiant smile. ‘It was truly romantic! He caught me when I fell out of a tree yesterday and then proposed.’

‘Is that a habit of yours, then?’ Fitz asks dryly. ‘Falling off of stuff?’

Jemma looks up at him and blinks. ‘Well, usually somebody catches me,’ she explains, almost shyly.

There is something about the way she says this, something so open and honest, that it renders Fitz speechless. He looks away from her and fumbles in his pocket for his phone to offer to her.

‘Is, uh, there anyone that I can call for you?’ he asks. ‘Your… _prince_ , or…’

Jemma tilts her head to one side as she looks from his phone to the window, a deeply puzzled expression on her face.

‘I…I don’t think he’d hear you from here,’ she says, apologetically, pressing the phone back into his hand.

Unsure quite what to say to this, Fitz leaves her in the living room examining the television remote with an almost reverent curiosity and steps into the kitchen to order a taxi for her.

He isn’t exactly sure where she will ask it to go when it comes. The place she has described for him and Maura, _Andalasia_ , isn’t anywhere he has heard of before – it sounds vaguely European, maybe somewhere in France? Austria? Fitz wonders whether his best bet would be to direct her to a travel agents instead. Wherever he sends her, he knows that he cannot allow her to stay with them overnight.

It’s not that he thinks Jemma is particularly dangerous. In fact, he thinks precisely the opposite. But Daisy is supposed to be coming around in the morning to take Maura to school, and Fitz dreads to think what she will assume if she walks in to find a strange woman she has never met before making herself at home in their flat.

He is just dialling the number for the cab company when Maura appears in the doorway.

‘Daddy, what are you doing?’

‘I’m calling for a taxi,’ he tells her, listening to the hold music on the other end of the line, ‘to take Jemma somewhere where she’ll be safe for the night.’

Maura’s face falls. ‘But can’t she stay here with us?’ she asks, taking a hold of Fitz’s hand and pulling him down so she can whisper in his ear. ‘I think she might be a _real_ princess.’

‘No, darling,’ Fitz says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘She’s not a princess. She’s just…’

He struggles, still trying to work out himself who Jemma was. There was nothing about her which indicated any kind of substance abuse and she had been able to follow the straight line on the road back to the car with deadly accuracy. Her dedication to her role is even beginning to make him doubt his theory that she is an actress, leading him to wonder whether maybe, just maybe, Maura may be right after all…

Fitz shakes his head.

‘She’s just a woman who’s a bit confused,’ he tells Maura. ‘And we’re going to help her because it’s the right thing to do. But she can’t stay here. Okay?’

The disappointment is evident in her face as she nods reluctantly. ‘Okay. But if you don’t want her to stay here tonight, you’re going to need to tell her soon. She’s really tired and I think she’s going to fall asleep on the sofa…’

‘She’s _what_?’ Fitz’s head snaps up. ‘Oh no, _no_ …’

Hanging up the phone, he hurries into the living room, Maura right behind him. Jemma is fast asleep on the sofa, her hands held underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Her white dress is billowed out on the cushions around her, giving the appearance that she is sleeping on a cloud.

Maura tugs at Fitz’s hand.

‘Are you going to wake her up, Daddy?’ she asks innocently, and Fitz has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning aloud at his six year old’s unintentional guilt trip.

Now she is sleeping, Jemma looks even younger than she had before, her eyelashes falling heavily on her pale cheeks. The sight of her causes an unexpected pang inside Fitz’s chest and he has to take a moment to inhale deeply before he speaks again.

‘Okay,’ he says quietly. ‘She can stay. But…’ he adds, squeezing Maura’s shoulders as a warning, ‘only for tonight. First thing tomorrow morning, she has to…’

 

 

 

‘GO!’ Brandishing a sopping wet mop like a hockey stick, Fitz slides into the hall in his socks. ‘The door, Maura, get the door!’

Skittering past him, Maura grasps the handle of the front door and hauls it open, just in time for Fitz to herd the wild animals that had been congregating in his flat out of it. Once the last of them have been shooed out, helped by his furious wielding of the mop, he slams the door shut and leans his forehead against it to catch his breath.

He had been awoken this morning by Maura, jumping on his bed and begging excitedly him to come and look at something. He had allowed her to tug him, still yawning, into the living room, where he saw a scene that had suddenly made him feel very wide awake after all.

There were squirrels in the sink, chattering away in a sea of bubbles, pigeons flapping at the windows, rats on the table shuffling magazines, and, worst of all, cockroaches on the floorboards. One had even managed to get a hold of his toothbrush and Fitz could have sworn he had been scrubbing the floor with it.

‘How did they get in, Daddy?’ Maura asks breathlessly.

Fitz shakes his head.

‘I don’t know,’ he replies, but even as he speaks, he hears singing floating down the hall from the bathroom and the events of the previous evening come flooding back to him.

Striding down the hall, he knocks purposefully at the bathroom door.

‘Jemma?’

‘Come in!’ she replies cheerfully, and, without thinking, Fitz opens the door.

Jemma is just stepping out of the shower, her dark hair falling in wet ringlets around her shoulders. A pair of sparrows are holding a towel in front of her body, which she takes to wrap around her.

‘Good morning, Fitz!’ she greets him, as he smacks his hand over his eyes and spins around to face the other way. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Uh…’ Trying desperately to ignore the image of her bare shoulders still imprinted on his eyelids, Fitz licks his lips. ‘Y-yes, yes, I…’

‘Oh, good.’ Behind him, he hears Jemma bustle about and a slight fluttering by his ears tells him that the sparrows have been relieved of their duties and are taking the opportunity to depart. ‘I always think that a day is so much more enjoyable if you have had a good night’s sleep the night before.’

‘ _Jemma_.’ Fitz tries to sound as firm as he can with his hand still covering his eyes. ‘Did you bring those animals into my house?’

‘Oh no!’ She sounds horrified that he would even ask. ‘Of course not. They came entirely of their own free will, every one of them. They wanted to help with the clearing up.’

‘Clearing…up?’

‘Why, yes! You and Maura have been so kind allowing me to stay the night here with you, I wanted to do something kind in return. I couldn’t do a lot about the furnishings, I’m afraid, but if I only had a little more time and possibly some silkworms…’

‘Jemma, please,’ Fitz says, weakly, ‘do not bring any more animals into my home. They could have been violent, or dirty, or _diseased_ …’

‘Oh, they weren’t, not at all,’ she assures him, and the warmth of her breath on his skin lets him know that she is standing right in front of him. ‘They told me so themselves.’

Fitz is just trying to think of what he can say in response to this when he hears the doorbell ring out in the hall.

 _Daisy_ , he thinks dismally, listening to Maura’s feet pad across the hallway to open the door for her.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ he hears Daisy greet her. ‘Ready for another fun week at school?’

‘Not really.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ He imagines that Daisy pauses here to ruffle his daughter’s hair affectionately. ‘Hey, where’s Dad?’

‘In the bathroom,’ he hears Maura say, and the sound of footsteps following tells him that she has invited Daisy into the flat. ‘He’s talking to-‘

‘ _Maura_ , wait!’

Desperate to try and explain the situation to Daisy before Maura does, Fitz makes a grab for the door frame to move out into the hall to meet them. Unfortunately, Jemma must have moved since she last spoke, because instead of wood his hand finds the soft skin of her upper arm instead.

Opening his eyes just in time to see her mouth forming a startled _o_ shape, Fitz staggers forwards, slipping on a wet patch of floor, skidding, and finally falling, utterly ungracefully, to the floor, bringing Jemma down with him.

For the second time in twenty four hours, he finds himself flat on his back with her resting on top of him, only this time there is only a towel and the thin material of his pyjamas separating his skin from hers.

‘Uh…Fitz?’

Turning his head sideways and catching sight of Daisy standing with Maura at the end of the hallway, staring at him with one raised eyebrow, Fitz feels his cheeks start to burn.

‘Hi, Daisy.’

‘Oh, so _you’re_ Daisy!’ Jemma’s face lights up, and Fitz wishes the floor was capable of opening up and swallowing him. ‘It’s just wonderful to be able to meet you at last. Fitz and Maura have told me _so much_ about you…’

Daisy’s eyebrows shoot even further up her forehead and she turns to Maura.

‘You know,’ she says, and her voice shakes slightly, whether from tears or laughter Fitz can’t quite tell, ‘I think I’ll let you and Dad walk to school without me today. You know what they say, four’s a crowd and all.’

‘No!’ Scrambling quickly, Fitz jumps to his feet and follows her as she turns away. ‘No, Daisy, wait.’ He reaches the door just before she does and puts his arm out to stop her from leaving. ‘You don’t have to go. Just let me explain.’

Lifting her eyes, Daisy glances back at Jemma, still sitting on the floor with a towel wrapped around her, and then looks pointedly at the damp patch on Fitz’s shirt, where she had been lying just moments ago.

‘Fitz, seriously,’ she says, ‘some things don’t need explaining.’

And with that, she shoulders her bag and slips out the door, letting it swing shut behind her.

‘Oh!’ Behind him, Fitz hears Jemma clap her hands together. ‘Oh, she’s just _lovely_.’

Closing his eyes, Fitz inhales deeply and counts backwards from ten in his head, swallowing back the sharp words on his tongue.

‘Maura,’ he says evenly, ‘go and get dressed for school please.’

His daughter scampers off, leaving Fitz and Jemma standing alone in the hallway together.

‘And what about me?’ Jemma asks.

Glancing back, Fitz wishes he could feel angrier with her for what just happened. But there is something about the way she is looking at him, her eyes so filled with hope and trust that makes all his irritation deflate.

It’s really quite frustrating.

With a sigh, Fitz lets his shoulders sag. ‘You,’ he says, ‘are coming with me. We are going to…’

 

 

 

‘Work?’ Gazing around her, Jemma frowns. ‘ _This_ is where you work?’

‘Um.’ Fitz holds the door open for her as she steps into the lift of his office building, her eyes wide as saucers as she takes in the mirrored walls and the floor buttons. ‘Were you expecting something different?’

She shrugs airily. ‘Oh, I don’t know. A workshop, perhaps, or a diamond mine…’

Fitz snorts. ‘You’d be hard pressed to find a diamond mine in New York.’

‘Well, then where do your dwarfs collect your diamonds?’

He is saved from having to answer this as the lift doors open onto his floor and he steps out, beckoning for her to follow him. When he spots Elena sitting behind her desk, flipping through a magazine languidly, Fitz exhales with relief and makes a beeline for her.

‘Hey,’ he greets her, ‘I need a favour.’

Elena has slid her magazine under a pile of papers so swiftly he barely saw her do it. ‘Sure.’

‘I need you to watch something for me – someone, actually…’

 _‘¡Ay!_ ’ Elena groans. ‘It’s not Bring Your Daughter To Work Day _again_ , is it?’

‘No! No, and Maura wasn’t _that_ bad last time, anyway. It’s not as if she _meant_ to knock over the printer…’

Realising that he is fighting a losing battle with that one, Fitz spins around, suddenly aware that Jemma is no longer standing at his elbow. He spots her by the fish tank, opening and closing her mouth in some semblance of the fish inside’s motions. Hurrying across, he takes her by the arm and pulls her over to Elena.

‘Jemma, this is Elena,’ he introduces her, ‘and Elena, this is Jemma.’

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ Jemma gushes, reaching across the desk to take her hand. Elena shakes it, returning the other’s woman’s smile slightly less enthusiastically.

‘Wow, Fitz,’ she murmurs. ‘Moving on from Daisy already?’

‘No,’ Fitz groans, ‘it’s nothing like that.’

‘Fitz and Maura have been so very kind to me,’ Jemma adds in. ‘Fitz was terribly brave catching me when I fell off the castle, and their couch is one of the most comfortable places I have ever slept.’

Elena fixes Fitz with a puzzling look, and he shakes his head as if to say _I’ll tell you later_.

‘We’re trying to get her home,’ he explains. ‘But I really need to get into this meeting, or else my case is going to be lost. Can you help her find a train, plane, bus, bicycle, whatever…’

‘Say no more.’ Elena nods. ‘We’ll figure it out. Now get into that meeting and win this case for us.’

‘Good luck, Fitz,’ Jemma says, reaching out to squeeze his hand with such a genuine smile that he can’t help but return it.

As he turns away from her into the meeting room, Fitz rubs at the spot on his palm where she had touched him, wondering why the merest brushing of her fingertips had left him tingling.

An hour later, he walks out of the meeting with the company director, Alphonse Mackenzie, at his side, the settlement agreed and the clients satisfied. His triumph is cut rudely short, however, when he catches Elena’s eye over Mack’s shoulder. Behind her, Jemma is standing at the floor to ceiling window, staring out across New York with a look of wonder on her face. Quickly, Fitz excuses himself and hurries over.

‘Well?’ he asks her, but Elena is already shaking her head.

‘We have a problem,’ she says. ‘There is no prince of any country in the world named Triplett. And I can’t find this _Andalasia_ place anywhere. It’s not a country, a city, a region…’

‘Huh.’ Fitz frowns at the screen. ‘Did you check in Europe?’

Elena thumps him on the arm. ‘Yes, I checked Europe. I checked _everywhere_. Fitz…’ She hesitates. ‘Fitz, I’m not even sure it even exists.’

Rubbing his hand across his eyes, Fitz glances back at Jemma. She is half-twirling by the window, her skirts made from his living room curtain swishing around her legs as she moves, and she is humming a tune he has never heard of. As he watches, a pair of bluebirds appear on the other side of the glass and join in her song. Unexpectedly, he feels something pull at his heart.

Shaking his head quickly, he turns to Elena.

‘Did Jemma tell you anything that might help?’ he asks hopefully. ‘Where it’s near?’

Elena snorts. ‘Oh, yes,’ she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘According to her it’s ‘just beyond the Meadows of Joy and the Valley of Contentment’!’ She holds up her hands in defeat. ‘What the hell is that supposed to _mean_?’

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Fitz shakes his head again. ‘I have no idea,’ he admits. ‘But, look, I _need_ to help her. I can’t explain it. Maybe we could…’

He trails off as he notices the alarm in Elena’s face and he turns around just in time to see Jemma standing with Mack and the soon-to-be-divorced couple from his case.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ he mumbles and practically jogs across the lobby towards them.

‘Your eyes are so lovely,’ he hears Jemma say to one of the clients as he approaches. ‘You know, they say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and from the look of yours I would say your soul is quite beautiful.’

‘Oh.’ The woman looks flustered, but pleased. ‘Well, thank you…’

‘It is a lucky human being,’ Jemma continues, resting a hand on her shoulder, ‘who gets to be in love with you.’

All at once, the woman’s face clouds over. ‘Tell that to him,’ she all but snarls, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at her husband.

Jemma laughs, a little uncertainly. ‘Oh, but I’m sure he already knows that!’

‘Jemma…’ Taking a hold of her arm, Fitz tries to pull her away. ‘Jemma, come on, let’s go…’

‘I was just trying to…’

‘Fitz?’ Mack frowns at him. ‘Who the hell is this girl? Do you know her?’

‘Yes! No…well, sort of…’ Flashing his clients an apologetic look, Fitz tries again to lead Jemma away. ‘Jemma, listen to me. These people are getting a divorce.’

‘Oh, how lovely for them!’ She clasps her hands together and looks to him expectantly. ‘What’s that?’

‘No, no, it’s not lovely.’ Carefully placing his hands over hers, Fitz looks her in the eye and sighs. ‘It means…that they’re not going to be married any more. They’re separating.’

Jemma’s face crumples almost instantly and tears spring to her eyes. She looks from Fitz to the couple helplessly as they beginning to dribble down her face.

‘Oh no.’ With rising panic, Fitz tries to wipe her tears off her face before the others can see them. ‘Please, don’t do that…’

‘But it’s just…’ She sniffs. ‘So _sad_ …’

‘What the hell is wrong with her?’ the woman demands, staring at Jemma.

‘Nothing!’ Fitz insists, catching sight of Mack dropping his head in his hands out of the corner of his eye, as Jemma falls forward to cry into his shoulder. ‘Nothing’s wrong with her!’

‘Well, it sure looks as if there is!’ The husband is clearly very unimpressed and he rounds on Mack with a face like thunder. ‘Really, Mr Mackenzie, what kind of law firm are you running here? This is utterly…’

 

 

 

‘Unprofessional!’

Fitz is so aghast as he pushes open the office block door that he hardly notices he has taken a hold of Jemma’s hand. He is talking to himself rather than anyone else as he pulls her across the street towards Central Park.

‘Can you believe it? Mack called _me_ unprofessional…’

He is still reeling slightly from the dressing down he had received from his boss and is fighting hard to stop himself from shaking with anger as he stops in the middle of the pathway and turns to Jemma.

‘What the hell was that?’ he demands, the tears still dripping down his face sparking more frustration inside his chest. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Why are you _not_?’ Jemma raises her face towards him and he is startled to notice genuine anguish shining in her eyes. ‘Two people who loved each other enough to get married don’t love each other anymore! It’s the…’ she sniffs, dragging her arm across her face to wipe away the tears. ‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘I hate to break it to you,’ Fitz snaps, ‘but that’s how most love stories end up.’

She shakes her head. ‘But it can’t be!’

‘But it is! And I ought to know, seeing as I spend most of my life dealing with what happens when happily ever after ends.’

He sucks in a breath and, for a moment, they stare each other down. Without noticing, Fitz has clenched his fists and he can see defiance in Jemma’s face, and a new strength he has never noticed before as she tilts her chin upwards. It is only when he sees the tearstains on her cheeks that he realises how ridiculous the argument really is.

‘Look,’ he sighs, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and taking out several notes. ‘Here. This is some money…you know, to _buy_ things. Take it, and go find Triplett, go find Andalasia, okay? Get on a bus, or a boat, or a train. But just…just go.’

When he sees the crushed look on Jemma’s face, he almost wants to take it all back.

‘I’ve made you upset,’ she murmurs.

‘No…well, yes…it’s just that I’d been working on that case for months and it was a really important one for the company and I have _no idea_ how I’m supposed to salvage this…’

He trails off when he notices Jemma nodding, her jaw set determinedly.

‘Then I will go,’ she says. ‘You and Maura have been kinder to me than anybody else I have ever met, and the last thing I wanted was to make trouble for you.’

She takes the notes he is handing out for her and spreads her skirts to him in a deep curtsey. When she rises up, she offers him a wan smile.

‘Goodbye, Leopold Fitz.’

‘Goodbye,’ he manages to say, his voice coming out more as a croak than anything else.

With one last smile, Jemma turns away from him and sets off down the Central Park walkway, her skirts bouncing around her ankles purposefully.

For a moment, Fitz watches her leave, feeling a conflict of emotions rise inside of him. On the one hand, knowing that he was no longer responsible for her felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, he had just lost something very important.

He is just about to turn away and go back to the office, hoping that it won’t be too late to grovel at Mack’s feet to let him keep the case, when he notices Jemma approach an old woman sitting on a bench. She sits down next to her and, much to Fitz’s horror, begins to hand her the notes he had given her one by one.

‘Oh, for the love of…’

With one quick glance back over his shoulder, Fitz makes his decision.

‘Fitz!’ When he reaches the bench, Jemma greets him with so much delight that you’d have thought she hadn’t seen him for a year. ‘Anna here was just telling me that she saw Triplett this morning! She knows where he is!’

‘Mmm.’ Reaching out, Fitz takes her by the arm and lifts her gently to her feet. ‘I’m sure she did.’

‘It’s quite true!’ the old woman insists. ‘He was on the bus this morning and he tried to kill me!’

‘Okay, great, thank you,’ Fitz mumbles, already steering Jemma away from her. ‘You can keep that,’ he adds, nodding to the pile of notes in her hand.

Still with one hand on her upper arm, he spins Jemma around and starts to walk her quickly away down the path.

‘What were you _doing_? You can’t just give money away like that!’

‘But, why not?’ she asks. ‘ _You_ gave it to _me_ -‘

‘Yeah, but that was different-‘

‘And besides, what are you doing here, anyway?’ She turns to him curiously. ‘I thought you were going back to work.’

‘I was going to,’ Fitz admits, ‘but it’s not…it’s not important. Not like…’

He stops himself abruptly when he realises that his hand is still on her arm and quickly lets it slide back down to his side.

‘Not like Daisy?’ Jemma asks. Unsure quite what else he was going to say, Fitz nods. ‘You…you really care about her a lot, don’t you?’

They have reached the Pond by this point and are walking along the path together slowly. It’s a busy day in the park and there are people everywhere, floating boats on the water, eating ice cream and laughing. Fitz remembers a day last summer when he and Daisy had brought Maura here. He had slipped and fallen into the pond and the girls had laughed so hard they had almost fallen in themselves.

‘Yes,’ he says eventually. ‘I do. She’s probably my best friend, and I just felt that after so many years of being friends, maybe we were finally ready to be something else as well. But I don’t know whether she feels the same way.’

‘Well, then you need to find out!’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Fitz gives her a bemused smile. ‘And how do you suggest I do that?’

Jemma tilts her head to one side, thoughtfully. ‘I suppose giving her a True Love’s Kiss would do the trick.’

Unable to stop himself, Fitz snorts. ‘A True Love’s Kiss? Are you kidding?’

Jemma shakes her head. ‘It’s the most powerful thing in the world,’ she says, with such sincerity to her words that Fitz is almost tempted to believe her.

He is about to reply, when a street vendor interrupts them, hurrying out from behind his cart and waving a giant toffee apple, showing ruby red skin through its thick layer of toffee, in Jemma’s direction. When she protests, he insists, pressing it into her hand.

‘No, no,’ he says, in a deep, almost put-on accent, when Fitz reaches into his wallet. ‘It’s free of charge, to the beautiful lady.’

It is only when he says this that it dawns on him that Jemma really is _beautiful_. Not only in her face, but in her mind, and in her generosity and compassion for every living thing. It is the kindness behind it, Fitz thinks, that makes her smile so beautiful.

He must have been staring, because she gives him an odd look, and he quickly draws his eyes away from her, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

‘I can’t just kiss Daisy,’ he says, pulling them back to their old conversation. ‘That’s not how we do things here. I’d have to at least take her on a date first…’

‘A date?’ Jemma frowns. ‘What’s a date?’

‘Well, it’s…you go out for dinner together, maybe go to a movie or the park. You talk, get to know each other, see what you have in common…’

‘Oh.’ Jemma falls silent. ‘That sounds quite lovely.’

They continue walking down the path around the Pond together. Fitz notices that she hasn’t even touched her toffee apple and appears to be deep in thought.

‘If you really care about her,’ she asks after a moment, ‘why haven’t you asked her for a…a date before?’

‘Well, because…’ Fitz hesitates, trying to think of a way to explain it. He has never had to put it into words before and now he has been put on the spot to do it he has no idea what to say. ‘It’s complicated, okay?’

‘But it shouldn’t be!’ Jemma turns to him so emphatically that her toffee apple flies out of her hand, landing with a solid splash in the middle of the water. ‘Not if she knows how much you love her! Does she know?’

Mentally, Fitz runs through his and Daisy’s five years of friendship, trying desperately to remember whether he’d ever actually said the words. ‘I mean, I don’t think we’ve ever said that – not in so many words – but she does know.’

‘But _how_ does she know?’

‘Because…because we just…’

Shaking her head, Jemma spreads her arms out by her sides and takes a deep breath. Fitz realises just a moment too late what she is about to do.

‘ _How does she knoooooooow…_ ’

 

 

 

‘ _THAT_ _SHE’S YOUR LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE!_ ’

As the final note of the song, a song he has certainly never heard before but apparently all of New York knew extremely well, rings out over the park, Fitz sinks back into the plush seat of the horse drawn carriage that had appeared for him to climb into at the end of the spontaneous musical number.

Standing on the seat next to him, Jemma waves and smiles at the dispersing crowd of buskers, park workers, brides, bridegrooms and children, who had all joined them in song. She is radiant and breathing heavily as she sinks down beside him, her skirts fluttering out around her.

‘Do you really think…’ he starts to ask, before clearing his throat and starting again. ‘Do you really think sending Daisy flowers is going to work?’

Jemma scoffs, smoothing down her bodice. ‘Of course it is. It’s _romantic_ , Fitz.’

‘Really?’ Fitz wrinkles up his nose in disbelief. ‘Because I don’t even know if she _likes_ flowers, and anyway, how are your bird friends supposed to know where she lives…?’

He is interrupted by the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, Fitz feels his stomach swoop when he sees that it is Daisy calling.

‘Your communication box is singing,’ Jemma points out helpfully, and he quickly shushes her before taking a deep breath and accepting the call.

‘Fitz?’

‘Hey! Hey, Daisy.’

Glancing up, he catches Jemma’s eye and she flashes him an encouraging smile.

‘So, um, I just got delivered an arrangement of flowers – by _white doves_ – and the note says that they’re from you?’

Fitz is mildly impressed. Doves, he thinks, were a nice touch.

‘Yeah,’ he admits, ‘they were from me.’

‘Wow…’ He hears a rustle down the phone and imagines her running her fingers across the petals. ‘They’re beautiful, Fitz. Thank you.’

Shifting on the seat, Fitz rubs at the bridge of his nose. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘And the ball tickets? For the Kings and Queens ball? Are they from you as well?’

His head shoots upwards. Jemma gives him a guilty look and shrugs. _For your first date?_ she mouths innocently.

‘Yeah,’ Fitz says, suddenly aware that he has left far too long a pause before replying. ‘Yeah, those were from me. I was wondering whether, um, you wanted to go? With me, I mean. It’s tomorrow night, at the Empire State Building.’

‘Sure.’ He can’t quite read Daisy’s tone of voice when she answers. ‘Sure, yeah, okay. That’ll be fun.’

‘Okay.’ Fitz exhales heavily. ‘That sounds great. Can I, uh, call you later about it?’

‘Okay.’ The way she says the word makes it sound like she is frowning and smiling at the same time. ‘I’ll talk to you later then?’

‘Yeah. Talk to you later.’

Hanging up the phone, Fitz holds it in the palm of his hand and takes a deep breath. Jemma is watching him hopefully from the opposite side of the carriage, and he notices that she is rubbing her palms together in her lap.

‘Well?’ she asks.

For half a heartbeat, Fitz hesitates. He wonders why, after five years, he doesn’t feel slightly more elated at the prospect of taking Daisy not only on a date, but to a full blown ball. But then he looks up and sees Jemma waiting for him to answer and he knows, with a sudden, fierce certainty, that he can’t let her down.

Pinning a wide grin to his face, Fitz turns to her.

‘Well…’

 

 

 

‘…Mack’s going to let me back on the case.’

‘Oh!’ Beaming, Jemma reaches across the table to touch his arm gently. ‘Fitz, that’s wonderful!’

Trying to ignore the way his skin tingles at the feel of her fingertips, Fitz slips his phone back into his pocket. ‘Yeah, well he had one condition.’

‘And what was that?’

‘That I never bring you to work with me ever again.’

‘Mmm.’ Jemma frowns for a moment before conceding and reaching out for another slice of pizza. ‘That sounds fair.’

Watching her try to stuff the whole piece in her mouth at once, Fitz can’t help but smile. The small Italian diner next to their apartment building, the one he takes Maura to every Friday night, is a quintessentially New York establishment, and because of this, he had dubbed it the perfect place to take Jemma for dinner.

So far, the evening has been fairly successful. Jemma is entranced by the people around them and is eager to trial every dish he and Maura order. Maura is so entertained by this that Fitz lets her order two starters and three main courses, just to watch Jemma take a mouthful of each.

They are waiting for their dessert now and Maura has drifted away from the table to pet the owner’s dog, hiding under a table in the corner. Fitz keeps one eye on her as he twirls the last of his spaghetti around his fork.

‘Fitz?’

‘Hmm?’                                                                                   

‘Are we on a date?’

He just about chokes on his pasta. ‘I beg- beg your pardon?’

Jemma blinks at him. ‘Well, we’re having dinner together, and we’re talking…isn’t that what you said a date was?’

‘Oh.’ Fitz reaches for his napkin and wipes his mouth, allowing his racing heart to return to a normal pace before he answers. ‘Um, no, we’re not on a date. Generally people don’t take their children on dates, you know?’

Jemma nods, a tiny frown appearing on her forehead, and he imagines her stowing away this nugget of information in her mind, adding it to everything she has learnt already.

‘Maura is a lovely little girl,’ Jemma says softly. Fitz notices that she is watching Maura too, her chin in her hand and a wistful expression on her face.

‘Yeah,’ he says, feeling a pang of pride in his chest. ‘She’s alright, I guess.’

Utterly misunderstanding his joke, Jemma shakes her head emphatically. ‘She’s wonderful! She is kind and sweet and generous and creative…’

‘I know!’ He cuts her off with a laugh and smiles. ‘ _I_ _know_ she is, Jemma. She’s the most wonderful thing in my life.’

They both fall silent, watching Maura stroke the dog’s head. A woman comes out of the kitchen, with a finger to her lips, and passes her a handful of treats to feed to him. Maura’s face lights up and she begins to give them to the dog, one by one, rewarding him with a pat every time he swallows.

‘I suppose she must miss her terribly,’ Jemma murmurs.

Fitz frowns, and slides his dish across to her, allowing her to scrape the last of the sauce. In return, she offers him the last slice of pizza.

‘Who?’

‘Why, her mother of course.’

 _Oh_. He swallows, his mouthful of pizza turning to sawdust in his mouth. Jemma notices the change in his demeanour immediately.

‘I’ve upset you,’ she says in alarm, her eyes widening. ‘Fitz, I didn’t mean…’

‘No, no.’ He waves her off, and somehow takes a hold of her hand. ‘It’s okay. Um, I don’t think she does miss her, really. Her mother, I mean. I’ve never really talked about her to Maura and she was too little when she died to remember her.’

‘That’s so sad,’ Jemma whispers, and Fitz half expects her to start to cry again. Instead, she squeezes his fingers. ‘But _you_ remember her. It must be very painful for you.’

Fitz shrugs. ‘It was,’ he says honestly. ‘When she first died, it hurt a lot. We hadn’t known each other for very long but I really thought…’ He shakes his head. ‘I thought we were going to have the full thing, you know? The fairy-tale ending, the happily ever after. It was only after she died that I realised happily ever afters don’t exist.’

‘But they do,’ Jemma insists.

‘No, Jemma. They don’t. Maybe they do for you and your prince. But the rest of us aren’t quite so lucky.’

He slips his hand out from underneath hers to reach for his drink, but before he can pick it up, Jemma’s fingers come up to cover his once more.

‘They do exist,’ she says quietly and looks up to meet his gaze. Her eyes are soft and dark in the candle light, and for a moment Fitz feels quite breathless. ‘I just think you’ve stopped looking for them.’

He isn’t quite sure how to respond to this, so he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to look at her, feeling the corners of his mouth start to curl involuntarily upwards in a mirror image of the smile she is giving him, and he wonders how it is possible that someone he met only yesterday could make him feel like…

‘Mind if I cut in?’

They are both jolted out of their reverie by the appearance of a waiter over their shoulder. He has a large, curled moustache that almost looks like it is stuck on and there is something strangely familiar about him. Fitz opens his mouth to comment on it, then closes it again.

The waiter is carrying a cocktail glass full to the brim with ruby red liquid, and he presents it to Jemma.

‘Complimentary drink,’ he says, ‘for the lovely lady.’

‘How come people keep giving you free food?’ Fitz complains, as the waiter sets the drink down in front of her. ‘ _I_ want free food!’

Jemma laughs, and the sound of it is enough to make his heart flip over twice in his chest. She lifts the glass up and peers at it.

‘It’s an apple martini,’ the waiter prompts her. ‘From a secret admirer.’

‘Ooh.’ Jemma sniffs at the drink curiously. ‘Apple, did you say?’

‘You should be careful, then,’ Fitz jokes, making his voice sound as serious as he can. ‘It might be poisonous.’

He sits back, expecting the other two to appreciate his fairy-tale humour, but Jemma only tilts her head at him in confusion, while the waiter looks faintly sink. Realising that the joke has gone way over their heads, Fitz relents and nods towards the glass.

‘You know…because it’s apple?’

Finally, it clicks and Jemma laughs again politely. The waiter still looks rather pale but even he manages a smile.

‘Just have a sip,’ he says, and it almost sounds as if he is begging. ‘One sip, that is all you need…’

Jemma meets Fitz’s eye across the table and he gives her a slight nod, letting her know they are both thinking the same thing: if she drinks the cocktail, maybe the waiter will let them alone. She raises the glass to her lips but before any of it can pass her lips there is a shout from the next table and before Fitz knows what is happening, something small and brown and furry flies past his face.

The martini glass smashes on the floor and the waiter all but screams with what sounds more like anger than fear.

‘Rat!’ Fitz yelps, scrambling out of his chair. ‘There’s a rat on our table!’

‘No!’ Jemma shrieks, as the restaurant erupts around them. ‘Not a rat. A chipmunk!’

‘Let me see, Daddy!’

Glancing down, Fitz notices that Maura has suddenly appeared by his side and is holding out a hand to the rodent. Quick as a flash, he pulls her back and scoops her up into his arms.

‘Absolutely not,’ he says, settling her on his hip, ‘that thing is filthy, probably riddled with diseases, and…Jemma, _no_!’

Much to his horror, the chipmunk has clambered up Jemma’s arm and is pecking repeatedly at either of her cheeks and he can’t quite tell whether it is biting her or kissing her. He doesn’t have the time to figure it out either.

The waiter has returned with a gigantic broom and is wielding it about with such fury that Fitz clutches Maura a little tighter too him. Following the waiter’s gaze, he sees that it is quite firmly trained on Jemma and the chipmunk, and he only has the time to yell out for her to dunk before he is swinging the broom towards them.

Jemma’s chair goes flying out from under her as the chipmunk leaps away, the waiter following it, and Fitz dives forward to pick her up off the ground.

‘Are you alright?’ he demands, turning her face to look anxiously at her cheek. ‘Did it scratch you? Did it hurt you?’

Jemma is already shaking her head, but she is trembling and her fingers have reached instinctively for his.

‘Where did he go?’ she asks, her eyes scanning the restaurant desperately. ‘Did you see…?’

All of a sudden, there is an almighty crack and they both turn their heads to watch as the waiter uses his broom like a hockey stick to hit a wine bottle into the open pizza oven. Maura screams as the fire inside roars, and when the diners around them applaud, Fitz realises with a sickening certainty that the chipmunk must have been inside the bottle.

His fears are confirmed when he looks down at Jemma and sees that she has gone white and there are tears welling in her eyes. Covering her mouth with her hand, she turns towards him and buries her head in his neck. When he hears her start to sob, Fitz feels something inside of him clench.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs, pulling her close and gently rubbing her back with his thumb. ‘It’s okay. You’re safe.’

She clutches his jacket gratefully, but into his shoulder Fitz hears her mumble.

‘Oh…oh no, not…’

 

 

 

‘Lance?’ From the doorframe, Fitz sees Maura pull a face. ‘That doesn’t sound like a very chipmunk-y name.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Jemma sounds genuinely confused but, since she is sitting cross legged on Maura’s bed with her back to him, he can’t see her face. ‘What would be a more chipmunk-y name, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. Squeakers?’

He smiles as he hears Jemma laugh, a sound that is quickly becoming one of his most favourite sounds in the world.

‘When I see him next, I’ll tell him that.’

They had left the restaurant in a hurry after the incident, Fitz frantically paying at the counter whilst still carrying Maura. He had then managed to lose Jemma on the street outside, before noticing her talking to a reporter and hurriedly ushering her away.

Once they had returned to the flat, he had given her a pair of his pyjamas to wear and since putting them on she seemed to have calmed immeasurably.

From his spot by the door, Fitz watches Maura bit her bottom lip.

‘Do you really think he’s okay?’ she asks anxiously.

Fitz sees the back of Jemma’s head bob up and down as she nods. ‘Of course he is! Lance is far too clever to be stopped by such a simple thing as a broom.’

‘And a fire.’

‘And…and a fire, yes. But I assure you, Maura, he is probably already on his way to join me here now. When he arrives, I’ll bring him to meet you, would you like that?’

His daughter sinks back into her pillows, visibly relieved.

‘Yes, please. Thank you, Jemma.’

‘My pleasure entirely.’ Jemma bends over to kiss Maura on the forehead, and then clambers off her bed to tuck her in. ‘Goodnight, Maura.’

‘Goodnight, love,’ Fitz chimes in, blowing her a kiss across the room as he turns out the light. Through the half dark, he sees her reach out her fingers to catch at the air, before pressing the kiss to her cheek. Smiling, he pulls her door softly shut.

‘Thank you for that,’ he says to Jemma, as they walk back into the living room together. ‘For talking to her. She was really upset about this evening and you really calmed her down.’

‘Oh, you’re quite welcome.’ Jemma flops down onto the sofa and beams up at him. They have put sheets and blankets on the sofa properly for her tonight, and Maura has even left a small, soft toy cat on the pillow for her, the ultimate gesture of friendship. ‘And did I tell you what Lance said, Fitz? He came here with _Trip_ , and he’s out looking for me right now!’

A little a taken back by this, Fitz blinks. ‘The… _chipmunk_ told you that your prince is coming?’

Jemma nods happily. ‘He’s been searching for me all day and night. I expect he will be here soon…’

Muffling a groan, Fitz takes a step towards her. He settles himself on the edge of the coffee table. ‘Jemma, that’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.’

‘Oh?’ She frowns, and shuffles further forward so that the tops of their knees are just touching. There are two layers of trousers between their skin, but it is still enough contact to make Fitz suck in a breath. ‘What is?’

Swallowing deeply, he looks up and meets her eye. ‘Well…I want to help you. If it turns out you need to stay in New York for a while, then you can stay with Maura and I while we find you somewhere to live. I can help you find a job, take you to the bank, maybe get a passport. I want to help, Jemma.’

She shakes her head with a bewildered smile. ‘That’s terribly kind of you, Fitz. But why would I need to stay any longer? I know that Trip is here now and he’ll be coming for me at any moment…’

‘You know that,’ Fitz repeats, ‘because the chipmunk told you?’

Jemma looks a little exasperated as she nods. ‘Yes! Do you doubt his word?’

‘It’s not that I don’t, it’s just…’ Fitz sighs, wondering how he has gotten to a point in his life where he is debating the validity of a chipmunk’s testimony. ‘Jemma, chipmunks can’t normally tell anyone _anything_.’

She gives him a knowing look. ‘Maybe New York chipmunks don’t.’

Fitz feels his shoulders sag as he realises he is fighting a losing battle. But somehow, over the last two days, he has grown fond of Jemma, so much so that the idea of her getting hurt is enough to fill him with dread, so he presses on.

‘Okay, but what I am trying to say is I think maybe you need to prepare for what you’ll do if Trip _doesn’t_ come.’

Clearly affronted, Jemma sits back so that their knees are no longer touching. ‘But there’s no point doing that because he _is_ coming!’

‘ _No_ , what I meant was-‘

‘Urgh!’ Jemma stands abruptly and crosses her arms over her chest. ‘Will you please stop saying _that_?’

Fitz stares at her. ‘Saying what?’

‘No!’ For the first time, he sees Jemma’s eyes narrow into a glare and she stamps her foot on the ground. ‘ _No_ , and _never_ , and _don’t_! It feels like that’s all you’ve said to me since the moment I got here!’

‘Well, I’m sorry if it feels that way!’ Scrambling to his feet, Fitz follows her as she storms across the room. ‘But I am just trying to help you!’

‘And I appreciate the things that you have done for me!’ Jemma spins around to him and she rolls her eyes heavily, a gesture that oddly suits her. ‘But your _relentless_ pessimism is-‘

‘Is what?’ Fitz snaps. ‘My relentless pessimism is what?’

‘It’s _infuriating_!’ She takes a step towards him. ‘You, and your utter refusal to see the good in things, and your complete lack of _trust_ , and of _faith_ …it’s so…oh, it makes me so… _so_ …’

She breaks off and Fitz sees her suck in a breath sharply. It is only then that he realises they are standing close enough for him to see her chest heaving underneath his pyjama top and that her hand has curled into the collar of his dressing down, pulling him down to her level so that their foreheads are almost touching.

If he bent down even the slightest bit further, his lips would be able to touch hers.

Clearing his throat, Fitz hardly dares speak.

‘I make you so…?’ he prompts her in a murmur.

Jemma is gazing up at him, all the anger in her eyes dissipating. Her mouth is slightly parted and he can feel her start to tremble in his arms.

‘I…I don’t know.’

She hesitates, and for an instant Fitz thinks she is about to go up on tip toe and bring their lips so close together that he would be able to taste her breath. It takes him quite by surprise, how much he wants to be able to do that.

But then her fingers come up to his jaw and all of a sudden he remembers two very important pieces of information. Firstly, that Jemma is engaged. And secondly, that he has agreed to take Daisy on a date tomorrow night.

With a pang of guilt, he pulls away, making Jemma sway on her feet. She looks at him, and there is something so raw and vulnerable in her eyes that it almost hurts for him to look at her. She lets go of his collar, her fingers releasing the fabric one at a time, and sinks back onto the balls of her feet.

‘Okay,’ Fitz says, because he can think of nothing else to say. He takes another step backwards, increasing the distance between them once again.

Jemma is still staring at him, a tiny frown creasing up her forehead as her arms hang limply by her sides. It takes all the strength in Fitz’s body to make him turn away from her to head to his own room.

‘I’ll see you in the…’

 

 

 

‘Morning! Did you sleep well?’

Blinking away the last of the sleep in his eyes, Fitz stares around the kitchen. Just as she had the morning before, Jemma has cleaned, although, thankfully, she seems to have done it without the assistance of all the stray animals of New York today.

There are fresh flowers on the table, the smell of pancakes cooking on the hob, and she is just bending over to pour Maura a glass of orange juice.

‘Uh, Yeah.’ He nods, feeling his heart start to hammer harder against his chest. Jemma has clearly cut herself a new dress, this time out of his daughter’s bedroom curtains and with her curls pinned back he has a perfect view of the nape of her neck. ‘I slept okay.’

‘Good.’ After a split second, she glances up at him and in her eyes he sees her hesitation. ‘I’m glad. And…’ She spreads out her arm. ‘I made breakfast.’

She is apologising, Fitz realises with a start. She is apologising with fresh toast and soft boiled eggs and syrup and it is like nothing he has ever known in his life. After spending the whole night tossing and turning, playing their argument over and over again in his mind, he is just as eager as she is to make up.

 He gives her a brief smile across the table, hoping that it is enough to convey his own apology, and sits down.

‘Breakfast sounds pretty good,’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘What do we have?’

Jemma smiles back, with a little exhale of relief. ‘I’ve made pancakes, and there is eggs and toast as well.’ She lifts the teapot in his direction. ‘Tea?’

Fitz nods, holding out his cup. ‘Yeah. Please.’

Maura has been looking between the two of them like she is watching a tennis match, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip, but at this she seems to relax and happily reaches out to take a pancake from the plate in the middle of the table. She bites straight into it and swings her legs.

Sitting down, Jemma smiles at her fondly, before sliding the pancake plate away from her and offering it to Fitz.

He takes two, and feels all the tension in his shoulders ease away.

‘So,’ he says, already taking a bite out of one, ‘what do you two ladies have planned for today?’

‘I’m going to show Jemma how to finger paint!’ Maura declares, ‘and then she’s going to show me how she made her dress from my curtains. We’re going to stay inside, just in case her prince comes here to find her.’

Jemma looks a little guilty as she puts one hand on her arm to hush her. Fitz watches this, and then glances down at the apology pancake on his fork.

‘You know,’ he says lightly, ‘New York is a really big place, especially if you’ve never been before. I expect Prince Triplett is going to have a pretty hard time finding Jemma on his own, so what do you say we take our bikes down to the park this afternoon? See if we can find him before he finds us?’

Maura’s face lights up and she nods excitedly. Next to her, Jemma lifts her eyes to him and gives him a grateful smile. Fitz gives her a slight shrug and smiles back.

‘New York is larger than any place I have ever been to,’ Jemma agrees. ‘Do you really think your bicycles will be the best way to search for Trip?’

‘Jemma, trust me.’ Polishing off his first pancake, Fitz reaches across the table for the chocolate spread to put on his second. ‘If there is any way to get around Central Park efficiently it’s by bike. And besides, you can’t just wait around here all day. It’s not as if he’s going to just knock on the door…’

The words have barely left his mouth before a sharp rapping comes from the front door. Across the table, Fitz meets Jemma’s eye and sees that her dropped jaw perfectly matches his.

‘There’s no way…’

‘I’ll get it!’ Maura chirps, sliding out of her chair and running around the table to the hall.

Glancing over at Jemma, Fitz notices that she has dropped her fork to her plate and looks almost frozen into position. He swallows, and puts down his own fork.

‘It is I, Prince Triplett of Andalasia!’ At the sound of a voice in the hallway, they both jump and Jemma’s eyes widen to the point where they almost look like saucers. ‘I seek the beautiful maiden who is to be my wife! Have you seen any beautiful maidens today, little girl, besides yourself, of course?’

‘Oh.’ Jemma stands up on shaky legs, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. ‘Oh, he’s really here. I can’t believe it.’

‘Neither can I,’ Fitz murmurs, more to himself than to her.

Pushing his chair back, he stands too, just as she comes around the table to meet him. The hand over her mouth is trembling and the look in her eyes is startled. It is almost as if, after all the times she had assured him Trip would come for her, she had secretly doubted it and now that he is here she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself.

Reaching towards her, he takes her wrist gently and takes it down from her face.

Jemma licks her lips. ‘How, um, do I look?’ she asks, her hands going immediately to her hair, patting and smoothing it down.

‘A little flustered,’ Fitz admits, ‘and kind of alarmed too; you know, like how deer look when they’re caught in the headlights?’

Jemma rolls her eyes at him. ‘I don’t mean like _that_ ,’ she says, putting a heavy emphasis on the last word. She takes one step backwards and gestures down at herself. ‘I mean, how do I _look_?’

Fitz hesitates. Standing expectantly in front of him, her hair is just starting to look tousled and the front of her dress is already rumpled. There is a smear of pancake batter on her cheek and he leans forward to wipe it off with his finger.

‘You look like you,’ he says simply. ‘So…you look perfect.’

The alarm immediately vanishes from Jemma’s eyes, only to be replaced by a surprised tenderness, and she opens her mouth as if to say something, then is distracted by something over his shoulder. Turning to follow her gaze, Fitz feels his own eyes widen as he takes in the man standing in his kitchen door in fairy tale dress, complete with puffed sleeves, a large sword and tights.

‘Jemma!’

‘Trip!’ she cries, confirming his suspicions that this man is indeed her lost prince, and hurries around the table towards him.

Laughing, he catches her by the waist and lifts her into the air, spinning her around and around so that her hair flies out as he moves them into the living room. Fitz yelps as Jemma’s feet narrowly miss a lampshade.

‘Careful!’ He hastens after them, just managing to save a vase from tumbling to the ground when Trip’s back bumps against a cabinet. ‘Oh God – maybe you could just put her down now?’

Turning around, Trip appears to notice him for the first time and he immediately glowers.

‘You!’ He drops Jemma gently to the ground and rounds on Fitz, his hand going to his sword. ‘Have you been holding my bride here against her will?’

Instinctively, Fitz puts his hands up in surrender as Trip backs him up against the wall. Behind him, he sees Maura standing in the doorway and he only had time to think fleetingly how damaging it probably is for her to witness her father being held at sword point by a man in tights, before Jemma leaps forward to put herself between him and Trip.

‘He hasn’t!’ she placates him quickly. ‘Fitz and Maura are my friends, they’ve done nothing but help me.’

‘Oh!’ Like the flick of a switch, Trip’s glare disappears, replaced by a beaming grin showing perfect white teeth. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ He holds out his hand, but grabs a hold of Fitz’s to shake it before he has the chance to take it. ‘I am in your debt then, peasant. How can I ever repay you?’

‘You could start,’ Fitz mutters, stepping away from him and heading over to Maura, ‘by not calling me peasant.’

Trip nods, flashing him another dazzling smile and pats him warmly on the shoulder. ‘You drive a hard bargain, my friend, but I think I can manage that.’

‘Very big of you,’ Fitz replies, but Trip is no longer listening. He has turned back to Jemma and, with a swish of his cape, drops to his knees in front of her.

‘Jemma,’ he says, taking one of her hands in his, ‘I have searched the entirety of this strange and bewildering world for you, and at last I have. Now let me take you home to Andalasia, where we can be together forever.’

Fitz holds his breath, fully expecting Jemma to respond to this with delight and have them whirl out of his life faster than he can blink. He is a little surprised then, when she looks for him across the room and he sees the panic in her eyes.

‘But…we don’t have to leave _right now_ ,’ she says hesitantly, ‘do we?’

‘Well, I suppose not.’ Fitz can hear the frown in Trip’s voice. Evidently, he too was expecting Jemma to react with more enthusiasm. ‘Was there something you wanted to do first?’

Jemma purses her lips together and Fitz offers her a small nod in encouragement. Seeing this seems to give her extra courage and she takes a deep breath.

‘I would like to go on a date.’

‘A date! Why of course!’ Trip jumps to his feet and flourishes his cape again, before pausing and turning back to her. ‘What exactly is a date?’

‘Well, you go out to dinner, and you walk together, and talk together, and you get to know each other.’

‘Oh!’ Trip seems to consider this new concept carefully, before deciding it is desirable to him. ‘In which case, we shall have a date! We will begin this very minute, and then return home to Andalasia.’

He spins on his heels to Fitz and Maura, and bows low to them. The large puffs of his shoulder pads brush against the back of the sofa, making a strange rustling noise, and Maura clamps her hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

‘I am eternally grateful to you,’ he says, and Fitz is surprised by the genuine sincerity in his voice, ‘for taking care of Jemma.’ Taking his hand again, he shakes it firmly. ‘Thank you…my friend.’

Fitz tries to say something suitably intelligible, only it comes out sounding more like ‘uh-duh,’ and Trip gives him a funny but fond look before sweeping out of the flat.

Feeling a little dazed, Fitz turns back to the room and feels his heart fall into the pit of his stomach when he notices how crestfallen Jemma looks. She steps forward and drops to her knees in front of Maura, who gives a sob and hurls herself forwards into her arms.

‘I will miss you,’ Jemma mumbles into her hair, ‘so, _so_ much.’

‘Don’t go forever,’ Fitz hears his daughter beg. ‘Come back and visit.’

‘Oh, but I will!’ Pulling back from her, Jemma brushes her thumb over Maura’s cheeks. ‘And you must come and visit us in Andalasia and we can finger paint all over the castle walls!’

Maura laughs and nods, and Jemma squeezes her shoulders gently before looking up and meeting Fitz’s eye. Without breaking the contact, she rises to her feet and steps towards him.

‘I don’t think I will ever have quite enough words,’ she says, and her voice quivers slightly, ‘to thank you for all that you have done for me.’

He shakes his head, mostly to hide the tears starting to well in his own eyes. ‘You don’t need to,’ he assures her. ‘Really, Jemma. It’s been…’ He glances down at Maura. ‘It’s been our pleasure.’

She smiles at him, and hesitates before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. As if on instinct, Fitz feels his arms come up to hold her by her waist, breathing in the soft smell of her hair.

‘You have been,’ she whispers into his neck, ‘the best friend I have ever had.’

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Fitz allows his head to rest briefly on her shoulder, trying hard to memorise the sound of her heart beating against his shirt and already regretting the inevitable moment that he will have to let her go.

It comes all too soon as Jemma’s hands slide away and she falls back to the ground.

‘I suppose,’ she says, trying hard to offer him one last smile, ‘all there is left to say is…’

 

 

 

‘…goodbye, Mr Fitz.’ The man currently shaking his hand has the kind of grin on his face that makes Fitz think he hasn’t been able to stop smiling for several days. ‘Thank you for all your time and effort.’

‘Uh, you’re welcome.’ With one arm, he gestures towards the door to show the man and his wife out of his office. ‘And I am very happy for the both of you.’

The couple pause half-way to the door, turn to each other with an incredibly soppy smile and start to kiss one another right in front of him. With a silent groan, Fitz rolls his eyes to the ceiling and waits for them to stop.

It’s always a very strange scenario when the couple you were assisting through a divorce decides not to follow through. On the one hand, it means that they no longer need your service so you lose a case, but on the other it felt pretty wrong to be disappointed that two people had decided to give their relationship a second chance.

Mack had explained this to him when he had first joined the company and Fitz was fairly used to it by now. But there was something about how bizarrely fast the couple he had met with just the morning before had changed their minds that made him curious.

‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ he says once the couple pull apart, ‘what made you think again?’

They give each other a knowing look, and the wife leans into her husband’s shoulder.

‘It’s all thanks to your friend, really,’ she says.

Fitz blinks. ‘Wait, you mean Jemma?’

Nodding, the husband leans over to nuzzle his wife’s neck. She laughs, and wraps her arm around his waist.

‘After what happened yesterday morning,’ he explains, ‘we went out for coffee to complain about how irregular your office’s behaviour was. We got talking and I was looking at her across the table and, well…I realised that girl was right. Her eyes _are_ beautiful. And I am very lucky to be in love with her.’

His wife looks up at him, her eyes shining with affection, and she reaches up on tip toes to cup his cheek and kiss him again. Fitz purses his lips and averts his eyes, staring up at the ceiling until they break apart.

‘When you see her next,’ the wife says as he directs them to the lift, ‘thank her for us will you? Without her, we would never have had the courage to take a second chance at our happy ending.’

Fitz nods, trying hard to keep the smile on his face to disguise the fact that her words have struck a chord with him.

‘Yeah,’ he says, as the lift doors start to close. ‘I’ll let her know.’

The couple beam at him, their bodies so close together he can barely tell one limb from the other.

‘We appreciate that,’ the husband says, turning to rub his nose against his wife’s. ‘And, Mr Fitz, we have to say it one more time…’

 

 

 

‘Thanks.’ Daisy flashes him a grateful smile as he helps her out of her coat and hands it to the man in the cloakroom. ‘That thing was getting super-hot inside the elevator.’

Fitz tries to smile back as they walk into the main room where the ball is being held. Inside, it is a medley of music and dance and decoration, with lights and flowers hung from the ceiling and people already whirling around on the dance floor, dressed in assorted dresses and suits of all different styles.

He glances down at Daisy, who is smoothing down the front of her own dress. It is full length and highly ruffled, giving off the appearance that it was used in a period drama in another life. The skirt is held up in a stiff position by something that Fitz recognises as a similar hoop to the one that had help up Jemma’s wedding dress the first time he had met her. The recollection sends a wave of regret shooting through his stomach.

Daisy seems to notice him staring at her and gives him a funny look.

‘Fitz? You okay?’

Blinking, he nods. ‘Yeah, yeah, sure.’ With a frown, he reaches up to touch something in her hair. ‘What have you got…?’

‘Oh!’ Daisy’s hand shoots upwards too, knocking against his own. ‘The dress came with some hair accessories. Flower blossoms, artificial berries, you know. Authentic stuff.’

‘Authentic,’ Fitz repeats.

She rolls her eyes at him as they descend the staircase together. ‘Look, it was the only thing the costume shop had left at such short notice, okay? I suppose you’re _really_ enjoying your outfit.’

Fitz glances down at himself. He must have gone to the same low stocked costume shop she had, because he is dressed in a Georgian style suit, complete with a blue silk jacket embroidered with gold and polished black shoes with a large buckle.

‘The tights are actually surprisingly comfortable,’ he admits.

Daisy snorts. ‘Yeah, I bet they are, Scarlet Pimpernel. Come on then,’ she adds, tugging at his hand to bring him into the middle of the dance floor, ‘are we going to dance or what?’

The dancing is unlike anything Fitz has ever tried to do before. He tries to concentrate on the rhythm Daisy seems to have picked up effortlessly, following her footsteps and trying not to tread on her toes.

The dance appears to be made up of a lot of foot stomping, twirling and raising of arms; sneaking glances at the spinning couples around them, Fitz tries to mimic their movements. His attempts must be pretty ineffectual, as Daisy starts to laugh. She laughs even harder when he shoots her a glare and then trips over the hem of her skirt.

He had thought it would be awkward, taking his friend on a first date, but it is only that they are here, now, turning in circles on a parquet dance floor in period costume, that Fitz realises that it isn’t awkward at all. He is having fun, just like he always does when he is with Daisy. It feels exactly the same as it does every other time they are together.

But, as they stand in the middle of the circle of dancers, arguing about who ought to lead, he can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, as if it ought to feel different tonight.

The song ends, and all the dancers turn to applaud the band, but as Fitz moves his head something catches his eye at the top of the staircase. When he sees who it is, his heart skips a beat.

Jemma is standing on the top step, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She is wearing a floor length gown with a jewelled neckline, a far more modern style than any of the other women at the ball. She has done something different to her hair too, making it smoother and sleeker, so that it hangs over her bare shoulders in gentle curls.

She appears to be scanning the faces in the room anxiously and then, finally, her eyes reach his. She starts, almost as if she is surprised to see him at the event she had orchestrated for him to be at, and gives him a soft, if a little shy, smile.

Unable to stop himself, Fitz smiles back.

‘Fitz!’ He is brought unexpectedly back to earth by Daisy, thumping his arm excitedly. ‘Isn’t that Jemma?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ he mumbles, rubbing at the spot where she’d whacked him.

‘What’s she doing here? I thought she was going home to…wherever it was she came from? And is that her _prince_?’

Daisy’s eyes boggle, as Trip steps up to Jemma to offer her his arm. Still dressed in his Renaissance get-up, he clashes with her rather spectacularly.

‘That’s him,’ Fitz confirms.

‘Well, come on then!’ Daisy tugs on his hand and starts to drag him across the dance floor towards them. ‘We have to go say hello!’

Ever since he had explained properly about Jemma to her, Daisy had been desperate to meet her again, seeing as she had barely had the chance the morning in the apartment.

‘If there’s a girl in this world who can make you voluntarily choose to go dancing,’ she had said to him in the taxi ride to the ball, ‘then I want to shake her hand.’

She had been disappointed, then, when he had told her Jemma and Trip had returned to Andalasia that afternoon, or at least, that was what he thought they had done.

‘Hi,’ Daisy breathes, as they come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Jemma, it’s so good to see you again!’

‘And you!’ Up close, Fitz can see the genuine pleasure in Jemma’s face as she reaches forward to squeeze the other girl’s fingers. ‘You look even more beautiful tonight than you did the other day.’

Daisy grins, but even she can’t help glancing sideways at Trip, standing with his hands on his hips by her side. ‘And, uh, who’s this?’

‘Daisy,’ Jemma says, ‘this is Trip. He’s my…’ She hesitates over the word, her gaze flicking anxiously over to Fitz, before finally admitting, ‘he’s my prince.’

‘A pleasure to meet you,’ Trip says, sweeping her a low bow. ‘Miss…’

‘Daisy,’ Fitz fills in quickly. ‘She’s my…’

Just like Jemma, he hesitates, unsure of quite how he wants to introduce her anymore.

‘…friend,’ Daisy fills in for him, throwing him a weird look as she leans over to shake Trip’s hand. ‘I’m his friend. And I just have to say it, your costume is…’ She breaks off, gesturing vaguely in the air as though she is searching for the right word.

Trip beams at her and tugs down his doublet. ‘C’mon, girl,’ he teases, ‘you know I look good.’

Fitz’s eyebrows shoot up at the unexpectedness of this pronouncement, and he looks to Jemma for an explanation. She smiles ruefully and pats Trip’s arm.

‘He picked up some of the local lingo when we were in the park,’ she explains, tilting her head almost apologetically.

Fitz nods, and is opening his mouth to reply when he is cut off by the conductor of the band, announcing that for the next dance he wants each dancer to invite someone they didn’t come with to dance with them. Realising the implication this held for the four of them, Fitz drops his head to the ground, feeling his face redden.

Luckily for him, Daisy latches onto the idea faster than the other two.

‘Well, this is easy,’ she says, and reaches out to take Trip’s hand. She tugs him away from Jemma’s side and loops her arm through his. ‘ _I_ will dance with Trip…’

With her free hand, she gives Fitz a sharp push forward, making him stumble. Jemma’s arms come up to steady him and when he looks up he finds himself staring into her eyes.

‘And _you_ can dance with…’

 

 

 

‘ _JEMMA_!’

In his haste to reach her side, Fitz almost trips over an apple lying by his feet on the dance floor. A single bite has been taken out of its crisp red skin.

He takes the steps two at a time, his heart hammering a terrified rhythm against his ribcage and with Daisy at his heels, until he reaches the spot where she is lying, unconscious on a conveniently placed chaise longue.

Dropping to his knees beside her, he is dimly aware of Trip standing by the door and arguing with a woman in a flowered dress. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers Jemma telling him Trip had a stepmother – _not the evil kind, mind you_ – but he doesn’t have time to dwell on that now. Not when she is lying in front of him, unmoving and deathly pale, with her lips starting to take on a frightening blue tinge.

His heart racing, he shakes his head, trying desperately to reconcile this Jemma to the one he had been dancing with just minutes before. Unlike with Daisy, he had never stumbled over her feet or forgotten a step. Spinning around the dance floor with Jemma in his arms had been effortless, like their bodies had been made to do that together. It had felt like they were the only two people to matter in the world.

With a shaking hand, Fitz brushes back a strand of hair from her forehead and finds that her skin is cold as marble.

‘What happened?’ he demands, suddenly furious. He looks up, glaring around him. ‘Did _anybody_ see what happened to her?’

The few party-goers who had been on the landing shake their heads, dumbfounded. Trip, still holding his stepmother by the wrist, is as stony faced as Fitz has ever seen him. The woman tosses her hair over her shoulder and stares coolly back at him.

‘You can’t prove anything, Antoine dear.’

A movement behind him makes Fitz jump, and he leans forward protectively, but it is only Daisy reaching over his shoulder to put two fingers on Jemma’s neck. After a moment, she hisses through her teeth.

‘That’s it,’ she mumbles, fumbling for her phone, ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’

‘Like that will do her any good,’ Trip’s stepmother sneers.

‘I’m sorry,’ Fitz retorts, rounding on her. ‘Who are you, again?’

‘Queen Raina,’ Trip says grimly, ‘Current queen of Andalasia, and the person who stood the most to lose if I married Jemma.’

Fitz tunes them out as they continue to argue, turning his attention back to Jemma. Shrugging off his jacket, he rolls it up and gently lifts her head up to slide it underneath as a pillow. Secretly, he had been hoping that the movement would make her stir, giving him even the faintest slither of hope that she would be alright, but her eyelids don’t even flutter.

His mouth dry and his chest tight, Fitz turns around to Daisy. ‘When did the ambulance say it would get here?’

She rubs his shoulder reassuringly, but the quiver in her voice betrays her own anxiety. ‘Soon.’

‘Not soon enough,’ Raina says smugly. She crosses her arms over her chest and nods towards the large clock on the wall, telling them that it is almost midnight. ‘As soon as the clock strikes twelve, she’ll be-‘

‘Don’t!’ Fitz snaps, clenching one hand into a fist. ‘Don’t you _dare_ say it!’

It is only when everyone’s heads swivel to him that he realises he has leapt to his feet. Daisy’s expression is unreadable, her eyes wide, but Raina’s is cold and calculating and vaguely amused, which only makes him even angrier. When Fitz looks at Trip, however, the unexpected hurt he sees in the other man’s face makes him sink back to his knees.

‘She’s done for,’ Raina says, and Fitz notices that there is only one minute more until midnight. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

Looking at Jemma now, and how desperately pale she is, Fitz feels his heart sink as he realises she may be right. The ambulance was still a while off, and if Raina was telling the truth then there might not even be anything the paramedics could do to save her. This isn’t a fainting fit, or a sudden spell of illness, this is…

‘Magic,’ Fitz murmurs, the realisation dawning on him.

Raina frowns. ‘What did you just say?’

‘She doesn’t need an ambulance,’ he says, ‘she needs a True Love’s Kiss.’

Gazing down at her, he rests one hand on hers and swallows hard.

‘After all,’ he murmurs, ‘it’s the most powerful thing in the world.’

‘Of course,’ Trip gasps, and he takes a step towards the chaise longue. It takes Fitz one moment too long to realise what he is about to do, and he scrambles to his feet so fast that he almost trips the other man up as he crouches over Jemma.

Hastily, Trip cups her cheek in his palm and tilts her face upwards to meet his. He kisses her, lightly, and Fitz holds his breath.

But nothing happens. Jemma doesn’t sit up or open her eyes, and when he glances at Raina, Fitz sees the triumph in her face and knows that he will not allow her to win.

‘Try it again,’ he says to Trip. ‘Please.’

He shakes his head, and rises slowly to his feet. ‘No. I can’t.’

‘Why the hell _not_?’

Trip turns to look at him and the look in his eyes makes all the frustration pent up inside Fitz’s chest disappear.

‘I can’t,’ Trip repeats, ‘because it’s not me that she needs to kiss her. It’s you.’

His words feel like they have sucked all the air out of Fitz’s body, leaving him speechless. With his mouth half open, he looks from Trip to Jemma and back again, and then shakes his head.

‘No…no, it’s not…it’s not possible, I’ve only known her for a few days, I can’t…we can’t…’

He trails off as he looks down at Jemma and a lump appears in his throat as he realises he can’t fully deny what Trip is implying. And, what’s more, he doesn’t _want_ to deny it.

Above his head, the clock begins to strike twelve.

‘ _Fitz_.’ Daisy’s voice is firm as she steps forward. Up until that point, he had almost forgotten she was there at all, but now as she lays a hand on Trip’s arm supportively he is infinitely grateful that she is. She meets his eye and offers him a brave smile. ‘Kiss her. It’s okay.’

With a nod, Fitz takes a deep breath and kneels back beside Jemma. Taking one of her cold hands in his, with his other he brushes her hair back from her face. It is incredible, really, he thinks, how quickly she has been able to weave her way into his affections with her bright smile, her limitless generosity and her unending kindness. It is extraordinary how easily she has been able to bury herself right in the very centre of his heart.

‘Please,’ Fitz murmurs, so quietly that only Jemma could hear him. ‘Come back to me.’

As the last strike of twelve sounds out across the ball room, he brings his lips down to hers to kiss her.

Jemma’s lips are soft, and surprisingly warm given how cold the rest of her skin is. Tipping his forehead forward so that it rests against hers, Fitz allows himself to close his eyes, savouring the feel of it, before breaking away with one final prayer.

 _Please_ , he repeats, sinking back onto his heels. _Please_ …

Suddenly, Jemma’s eyelids flutter and she gasps. Quickly, Fitz jumps up to sit beside her, lifting her head up so that she doesn’t choke. Her eyes open and immediately settle on him and the delight in her face is enough to make him want to sob with relief.

‘I knew it,’ she whispers and, with a sudden, swift motion, launches herself upwards to wrap her arms around his neck.

This time, she kisses him, with their bodies pressed flush together and the applause from the rest of the room thundering in their ears. Fitz feels his smile grow wider as he kisses her back, slipping his arm around her waist to pull her closer and feeling the warmth of her lips fill him like a missing piece.

Pulling away, Jemma presses her hands to either side of his face and he almost wants to laugh when he sees the happiness shining in her eyes.

‘I knew it would be…’

 

 

 

‘ _YOU!_ ’

The words are ripped from Raina’s mouth as she screams, before glaring downwards to where Jemma is gripping onto the handle of Trip’s sword, plunged, quite firmly, into her tail.

When Trip’s stepmother had transformed herself into a twenty foot tall dragon with glittering blue scales in the middle of the ballroom, Fitz’s parental instincts had momentarily taken over his paralysing fear, allowing him to think for one fleeting second: _wait until I tell Maura about this_. But then Raina had made a dive for Jemma and, in a fit of heroism he hadn’t known he was capable of until that moment, he had pushed her to one side, allowing himself to be taken up in the dragon’s claws and carried out onto the roof instead.

With his heart in his mouth, Fitz peers through Raina’s talons to Jemma. She is standing with her bare feet firmly planted on the roof tiles and there is a fire burning in her face unlike anything he has ever seen before.

‘Let him go!’ she yells.

Raina hisses in pain, and begins to writhe, her tail flicking wildly. Fitz is about to open his mouth to yell at Jemma to move but she is quicker than he is, grabbing onto a spire and pulling herself upwards. Reaching back, she plucks Trip’s sword from the dragon’s tail, causing Raina to wobble dangerously over the edge of the building. As the entirety of New York flashes before his eyes, Fitz prays silently to every god that he knows of that she won’t drop him.

‘Where have you gone, little princess?’ With one claw curled around the top spire, Raina circles the building. ‘Come on out, Jemma dear, we don’t have time for games. It’s time to finish this story, once and for all!’

She flicks her tail viciously, and a scattering of tiles are pushed off the roof, tumbling down towards the pavement far below. Fitz shudders and flexes his elbows, testing how far he can twist inside her grasp, debating the likelihood of being able to slip away. Unfortunately, Raina’s grip is like a vice and when she feels his struggle she clenches even tighter. Below Fitz’s feet, the spire she is holding onto creaks ominously.

‘Raina!’ The sound of Jemma’s voice makes him look down. She is on the opposite side of the roof with the sword still in her hands and her hair is now soaked through, thanks to the icy rain pelting down from the heavens. ‘I told you to let him _go_!’

Raina laughs; a strange sound, Fitz thinks, to be coming out of her long, scaled nostrils. ‘And where would be the fun in that? I want to make sure we _all_ get our happy endings.’

She lifts Fitz up towards her, so that they are face to face, and he watches as she stretches her mouth out into what he can only imagine is meant to be a smirk.

‘Or that I do, at least.’

Jemma screams and, for one alarming moment, Fitz thinks Raina is going to hurtle him off the top of the building. But then, something passes in front of his face, something small and brown and furry.

 _Lance_ , he thinks, just as the spire begins to bend.

Raina stops mid-cackle to roar furiously instead as she starts to fall, her giant body tipping sideways. In a desperate attempt to maintain her balance, she flings the claw still holding Fitz upwards, releasing him to clutch at the roof.

Suddenly, Fitz finds himself free falling but he only has time to let out a terrified yell before he hears something whizz past his ear and then Trip’s sword is embedded in his jacket sleeve, pinning him safely to the end of the spire.

Across the roof, he sees Jemma clambering over the tiles towards him and when she looks up he can see the relief in her eyes.

The spire groans again and, with a last, guttural shriek, Raina loses her grip. As she falls towards the Manhattan streets below, her body disintegrates into blue and purple glitter and Fitz notes, alarmingly calmly, that it is not the weirdest thing he has seen today.

But then the material of his jacket begins to rip, and any of his previous calm evaporates pretty quickly.

With a yelp, he tries to do the same thing Raina had done, reaching upwards to grab the bent spire and climb to safety, but even as he moves his fingers along the metal he can feel them slipping.

‘Fitz!’ He hears Jemma call his name from below, and when he turns to look for her he sees that she is stretching an arm upwards for him. ‘Hold on!’

It is excellent advice, of course, but much easier said than done. Fitz feels his arms start to tremble and despite his best efforts his fingers start to slip too.

‘N-no!’

He falls, and Jemma reaches out for him as he does so, wrapping her arms around him to try and absorb the impact. But by this point he is falling too fast and is too heavy for her to catch and the wet tiles underneath their feet cause them to slip.

They slide down the roof together, holding tightly to each other’s hands, until they reach the gutter and Fitz’s feet stop them from falling any further. Breathing heavily, he wraps one arm around Jemma’s waist and pulls them further up the roof, away from the perilously high drop, feeling his heart hammer on the inside of his chest.

Out in front of them, flashes of blue and red are arriving at the entrance to the Empire State, accompanied by loud sirens and shouts from bystanders. Looking at it now and remembering the feel of Jemma’s lips on his, it seems unbelievable to Fitz that such a piece of utter magic could exist and yet the world would spin madly on.

He looks over at Jemma and sees that she is looking at him too, a hopeful smile on her face.

‘Is this a habit of yours?’ she teases. ‘Falling off of stuff?’

Fitz laughs out loud, and leans over to cup her face in his hand and kiss her again. It is so familiar now, the curve of her lips and the shape of her waist underneath his fingertips as he draws her closer that he cannot help but smile. Jemma presses back eagerly, bringing her hands up to thread them through his hair as she deepens the kiss, tasting of nothing but magic.

When he pulls back to rest his forehead on hers, he lifts one finger and brushes a raindrop from her cheek. When Jemma opens her eyes into his, Fitz can see his happily ever after shining back at him.

‘Only when you’re around to catch me.’

 

 

 


End file.
